


Trouble With Periods

by celestialenigma



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, Fluff, FrUK, Genderbend, Periods, Puberty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-04-14 19:12:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4576401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestialenigma/pseuds/celestialenigma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>France goes to visit England, but something isn't quite right with her this time. What's going on?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trouble With Periods

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a little thing I’ve been working on every now and again. It's not long and sort of choppy, but I thought the idea was amusing enough.  
> England here is not Nyo. She is genderbent. In my mind, she looks pretty much exactly like male Arthur. Just a little softer. The only major differences are, of course, their anatomy. She’s also a late bloomer (think 15 or 16 in appearance).

A sky painted with purple, pink and orange hung over Francis as he waltzed merrily up the flagstone path. There was hardly a cloud to be seen and soon, the moon and stars would shine beautifully over the area. In the clearing was a small cabin unlit from the inside. 

Were it not for the fact that Francis could sense a fellow nation inside, he would have thought it were empty. So, without knocking, a formality he never bothered himself with in regards to this nation, Francis went inside. He did so love to bother this one.

It was a single room cabin, a kitchen, a dining table, a small sitting area. Overhanging the sitting area was the bedroom with only a ladder leading up to it.

He'd taken not two steps inside the door when he dodged to the right. A small throwing knife was lodged right behind where he had been standing.

A tired voice drifted down from the bedroom, “Go away.”

“Now why would I do that Alice?” said Francis, voice relaxed, but physically prepared for the possibility of dodging more weapons, “You know I am here to bother you, so leaving you alone would defeat that purpose. Non?”

Flashing a suave grin, Francis knew that would get some sort of reaction out of the girl.

However all she did was moan and then say, “Do what you will.”

Shocked and, quite frankly, a little frightened at the lack of fire in her voice, Francis jogged over to the ladder. He scaled it with ease and crouched on the low roofed second floor.

There he saw Alice. Though if he had been anybody else, he would have thought she was a teen-aged boy. In fact, she went by Arthur to everybody else. Her hair was cropped short and blonde. Her face was shaping up to look relatively androgynous – a strong jaw and nose – but soft pink lips. 

Right then, she was wrapped in two layers of blankets, only letting her head show. It looked as if her arms were around her abdomen.

“What is wrong my dear?” said Francis, because there was no fun harassing somebody if they were ill.

“I'm dying,” said Alice with a pout.

Francis sat down as close as he could to Alice without the risk of being stabbed, “I'm quite sure you are not, since your country seems perfectly healthy to me. Though you do look a bit pale.”

Alice sunk deeper into her blankets and grumbled, “Well that doesn't matter because I am dying.”

“Perhaps if you told big brother, he could help.”

“I'd rather keep dying, thank you very much.”

“Oh come now, I've kept the secret of your gender for this long. Why suddenly distrust me now?”

She glared her bright green eyes, “Aside from the fact that you are an utter arse?”

Francis just rolled his eyes and then kept looking at her.

“Fine,” she said and then fiddled around under her blanket, finally pulling out her hand, which was covered with blood.

Staring at the crimson covered hand, Francis gaped, “You are injured? What happened?”

She shook her head and retracted her hand back into it's hiding place, “No. It's coming from inside of me.”

“What do you mean-” started Francis before his thoughts took a rather interesting turn.

He all of a sudden realized what was going on with Alice. He did wonder why she was such a late bloomer. She wasn't an adult, but not a child. Regardless, she was coming onto her cycle – getting her flowers as he was fond of saying. Therefore, he knew that nothing was actually wrong. Oh sure, many of the humans tended to be fearful of a woman's flowers. Francis, however, had been around long enough to see nothing wrong with such a natural process. 

But that didn't mean that he couldn't have some fun.

Heaving out a deep sigh, Francis placed his hand on his own cheek and cried, “You poor dear. That truly is horrible.”

Alice's eyes widened and her lower lip began to quiver, “R-Really.”

Then she quick threw the rest of the blanket over her head, “I mean, it's not like I am scared or anything.”

Francis clucked his tongue and then shook his head even though Alice wouldn't be able to see it. A true actor goes all out after all.

“Let me make your last hours easier on you. I shall make you some food. What would you like?”

Only a eye was revealed through a slit in the fabric and a muffled, “Meat.”

Going back down the ladder, Francis checked the larder. Thankfully, it had some cured venison. He found some flour and began to make a pastry.

Once his food was in the oven, the house smelling like the smoke from the wood he'd stocked in it, Francis went back upstairs. Alice was looking out at him with fear in her eyes, tears beading up and threatening to spill over. 

For what may have been the first time in his long life, Francis felt bad for the lie he told. Of course, he happened to like the shirt he was wearing, and didn't want it stained with the blood that would be shed, should he tell the truth to Alice of his fib.

“How are you feeling?” asked Francis.

“Kiss me,” said Alice, moving aside the blanket so it only covered her lower half. 

Both of Francis's eyebrows rose instantly and, in a rather incredulous tone of voice, said, “Quoi?”

“If I'm going to die, I want to have my first kiss at least and you'll have to do.”

Well that was unexpected. Oh who was Francis kidding? What female in her right mind didn't want to kiss him? Not one. That was who.

Gliding over as best as her could without being able to stand, Francis was soon beside the other nation. With the back of his fingers, he caressed her cheek, “You have made a good choice to have me as your first kiss.”

He pressed his lips gently against her soft ones, one hand on her cheek. Moving slowly, chaste and yet sweet, Francis kissed. Before long, Alice moved her lips as well, resting her hand upon his chest, curling her fingers in the fabric of his shirt. 

With a quiet breath of air, Francis moved back, carding his fingers through her messy short blonde locks.

“Perhaps one day, when you are fully an adult and not on your flowers, we can go all the way, hmm?” said Francis pressing another kiss to the young lady's cheek.

Always happy to kiss, Francis sat back and looked out the small window. 

“My flowers? Wait! Your people call that thing that happens to women each month by that name. Flowers?” said Alice, sounding more and more irate with every word, “Is what I'm going through normal?”

Realizing his mistake just then, Francis backed away, not turning his gaze away from the now fully emerged Alice. She crouched, holding a knife in one hand and her other fisted. 

“Now just wait-”

Of course, Alice wouldn't wait. Soon enough, she wasn't the only one bleeding that night.

But, though she'd never admit it, the kiss had been nice enough that she'd decided to spare Francis's life. 

That and she had no idea how long to leave the pastries in the oven. She sure was famished and didn't want them burnt.


End file.
